The Forest of Souls

by Carla Banks

  When the Kovacs’s marriage had come to grief, Daniel had rented a house in the Longsight area of Manchester, edging on Moss Side. As Faith drove south, cutting across to Stockport Road, the city became a different world, with red-brick terraces opening directly on to the pavement, and row upon row of empty shops, the windows boarded up or protected by metal grilles. She was having trouble finding her way through the maze of small streets. It was all brick and concrete, no sign of green. She could see alleyways running between the streets, footways empty of traffic, unlit at night, dumping grounds for rubbish and havens for crime.

  A group of youths in baggy trousers and hoodies milled around in the road. They fell silent as her car approached, moving apart reluctantly as she negotiated her way through. She was aware of their eyes following her. This was an area where car-jacking, gun crime and drugs were rife. She reached across the passenger seat and made sure the door was locked.

  Faith was driving faster than she should, unnerved by the silent observation and the way all activity halted until she, the intruder, had gone. It was like straying off the path in dense forest. One moment, she thought she knew which way she was going, the next, she was lost. Paths seemed to stretch in all directions, then petered out into nothingness. Everything looked the same and offered no clue as to the route back. And in the depths of the forest, the predators were stirring.

  She told herself not to be hysterical and glanced down at the map. If she was where she thought she was…She took a left turn, and then a right. There were no signs, and she had a feeling she’d gone wrong a few streets back, but as she pulled into the next road, to her relief she saw a large grey van parked half on the pavement, and the words KOVACS ELECTRICAL on the side. Daniel’s van. Even in her relief at finding her destination, she wondered how he managed to keep it there without the tyres, the contents, or even the vehicle itself going missing.

  The house looked empty–one terrace among many, the windows hidden behind heavy nets that looked slightly grubby and hung unevenly. She’d stopped at a newsagents on the way and bought a computer magazine for Finn and some modelling clay for Hannah. It was a poor apology for the doll she had at home, wrapped for the party Hannah should have been having on Saturday. She put the children’s stuff in her bag and then, as an afterthought, took out the radio and put that in her bag as well.

  There was no door bell. She banged on the wood and waited. No response. She tried again, and rattled the letter-box.

  ‘Get that, will you?’ she heard a voice shout. There was a muffled response and then the voice again, ‘I said you, Finn.’

  The door opened, and Finn was standing there. ‘All right,’ he shouted over his shoulder. Then he looked at Faith. ‘Hello,’ he said. She could see the change in him at once. His eyes were wary and guarded, an adult look that it hurt her to see in Finn’s eyes.

  ‘Finn,’ she said. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry about your mum.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked away from her, then at the ground.

  ‘Can I come in?’ She and Finn had always been friends, sharing an interest in computers, in numbers, in technology. And Finn was like her in another way–he kept his emotions under wraps.

  ‘People think Finn doesn’t care,’ Helen had told her. ‘They think he’s being arrogant or rude. Dan doesn’t understand. He’s too hard on him.’

  The house shook as heavy feet came down the stairs and Daniel Kovacs came into view. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said. He was a tall man, with a thick-set muscular frame. His face was flushed and his dark hair was sticking to his forehead. His sleeves were rolled up and the hair on his arms was damp with sweat.

  ‘You’re busy,’ she said.

  ‘No, just–bits and pieces,’ he said.

  The door opened straight on to the front room. The post was still scattered on the floor. Daniel picked it up and looked round for somewhere to put it. The small room was dominated by the huge eye of a television screen that was switched on with the sound turned down. Football players raced round a green field and the crowd roared in silent accolades.

  ‘Tea?’ Daniel was watching her with a frown, as if he wasn’t quite sure why she was there.

  ‘Don’t bother if it’s just for me.’

  ‘I’m making it anyway,’ he said. ‘Do you want some or not?’

  She didn’t really want a drink, but it would have seemed stand-offish to refuse. ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  He disappeared through the door, and she heard the sound of water running and the clash of crockery. The house must be a simple two-up, two-down. Finn sat on the settee, his hands clasped between his knees, his attention apparently on the football game.

  She sat down beside him, clearing a space among discarded sweet wrappers, crisp packets and empty Pot Noodle containers, the detritus with which Finn usually surrounded himself. ‘Who’s playing?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he said with a shrug to indicate his total lack of interest–another bone of contention between him and his football-mad father.

  Faith picked up the remote and switched the TV off. ‘Waste of time,’ she agreed, and was rewarded by a quick glance and a half-smile.

  ‘Dad says we can go home at the weekend. If they say we can.’

  They was presumably the police.

  ‘You’ll be glad to get back to all your stuff.’

  ‘Yeah. There’s nothing to do here.’

  She looked round, exasperated by the lack of provision for the children. They needed more than a TV and an endless supply of junk food. Finn was watching her as she picked up a Pot Noodle container and looked round for somewhere to put it. ‘At least it’s green, right?’ he said.

  She felt a sudden tightening in her throat as she smiled in response. A couple of years ago, Faith had taken him and Hannah out to an adventure park. She’d unwisely told Finn he could have what he liked to eat, and had watched appalled at the quantities of hot dogs, donuts and soft drinks he had put away. In the end, she had vetoed any further consumption unless it’s green and had spent the rest of the day in a quasi-legal battle about green candy-floss, green ice cream and green pop. ‘Only the packet,’ she said. ‘That doesn’t count.’

  The phone rang, and he picked it up. ‘Yeah? Okay. I’ll get him.’ He called through to Daniel, ‘Dad! It’s Uncle Terry.’

  Daniel’s voice came from the back of the house: ‘I’ll take it in here.’ Finn put the phone down.

  Faith didn’t want to push the conversation, just let him take it where he wanted. ‘When we go home,’ he said, ‘I’ve got this cool new game. Want to see it?’

  She nodded. ‘Sure.’ She and Finn could find their way through most computer games.

  ‘It was a present,’ he said.

  ‘From your mum?’ She had the feeling she was stepping out on to dangerous ground.

  His nod was just a jerk of the head. It could have looked hostile, but she could see the reddening of his eyes and knew he was trying to fight back tears. To Finn, tears were a disgrace. ‘I was mad at her,’ he said. ‘She made Dad go. He didn’t want to. She never talked to us. She just did it. Because she…’ His eyes welled up and he turned away. He was still angry with her. ‘Dad said it was all going to be okay. Mum was just, you know…she was going to let him come back. And now…’ He brushed his hand over his eyes. ‘Now it can’t ever happen.’

  She looked at the boy beside her. He was old enough to understand what was going on, but not old enough to deal with the complexities and the ambiguities of the adult world. She could feel the tension in him. She was trying to formulate her next words when she heard the sound of feet on the stairs, and Hannah exploded into the room.

  ‘Faith!’ she said, launching herself at the settee.

  Faith scooped her up and hugged her. ‘Hannah. You’re getting so big!’

  ‘Mummy says I’m a lump. It’s my birthday on Saturday,’ Hannah announced, wriggling free.

  ‘I know. I’ve got you something.’ She was aware of Finn, suddenly watchful and wary be
side her. She got out the modelling clay which was in a bright paper bag. ‘Why don’t you open it now?’ she suggested. ‘You can have your proper present on the day.’ She looked at Finn. ‘I got this as well,’ she said, handing him the magazine.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. He made no move to open it, but kept his eyes on Hannah, who sat down on the floor and began opening the bag.

  ‘It can’t be my party,’ Hannah told Faith as she carefully unpicked the Sellotape. ‘We can’t have my party till my mum comes back.’ Her eyes slid away from Faith’s. ‘She’s coming back on Thursday.’

  Faith’s throat tightened. ‘Sweetheart, she isn’t. I’m sorry.’

  ‘She is.’ Hannah lost patience and tore the bag open. ‘She said so. She said…’

  ‘Look.’ Finn was suddenly beside his sister. ‘It’s modelling clay. You can make things.’ He tried to take the box to open it.

  Hannah snatched it back. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Take it upstairs,’ Finn said. ‘Dad doesn’t want it all over here.’

  ‘Let her play with it here,’ Faith said. ‘It’ll be okay.’ She couldn’t see what there was to damage in the dingy room. She watched as the little girl began twisting off strips of brightly coloured clay and started shaping them.

  ‘This is…’ Hannah put a lump of red clay on the carpet ‘…my mummy. And this is her car.’ The next piece was blue and was placed carefully next to the red piece. ‘And this is the telephone. And this is me…’

  Finn scooped up the box and the pieces of clay. ‘She’s not allowed to play with that down here,’ he said, ignoring Hannah’s wail of indignation. He wouldn’t meet Faith’s eye. ‘Come on, Hannah. I’ll play My Little Pony with you. I’ve got some chocolate,’ he added as Hannah hesitated.

  ‘Here you are. Sorry it took so long.’ Daniel came in carrying two mugs, and Finn made his escape with Hannah. Daniel sank down on the settee beside Faith. ‘Shit. Sorry, Faith. It’s all just a bit…’

  ‘I know. How are they coping? Finn looks…’

  He shrugged helplessly. ‘Who knows with Finn?’

  ‘He needs to talk,’ she said.

  He looked at her. ‘He’ll talk,’ he said. ‘To me. When he’s ready.’

  Their eyes met in a brief struggle. Faith backed down. She couldn’t afford to alienate him. ‘Finn told me you were moving back to Shawbridge.’ To the house that Helen and Daniel had shared ever since they got married.

  ‘Oh. Right, yeah. As soon as I can. Next week, I hope. They’ve finished with the house.’

  The conversation was edgy and difficult. She’d never got on with Daniel; he was not a man who was at ease with women. He’d always seen her as Helen’s friend, and lately, presumably, Helen’s ally. ‘Finn seems to be taking his responsibilities towards Hannah seriously,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well, he’s going to have to help out now.’ Daniel drained his mug and stood up. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Faith. That was Terence Lomas. I’ve got to get moving.’

  Lomas was a club owner who put a lot of work Daniel’s way. Helen had not liked him. ‘He’s a crook,’ she’d told Faith, ‘but he and Daniel grew up together, so he can rely on Daniel to keep his mouth shut.’ The Mafia of the streets.

  ‘That’s fine. You get off. I can stay for as long as you need.’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Listen, I’m sorry, I should have called you back. I’ve decided to take them with me. I promised them we’d go to McDonald’s after.’

  ‘I can stay,’ she said. ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s on the way. It’s not a long job.’ He stood up. ‘Or it won’t be if I get there this afternoon.’

  ‘But now that I’m here, why don’t you…’

  ‘I said I’m taking them with me.’ He was standing closer to her than was comfortable.

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ She kept her voice cool. She didn’t want him to see that she found him intimidating. ‘I’ll be in touch. If there’s anything I can do in the meantime…’

  ‘Yeah, fine, I’ll give you a call. Thanks.’

  As she drove away, she could feel the blank eyes of the houses watching her.

  From a statement made by Nicholas Garrick:

  …as a caretaker. I’ve been there for two months. My job is to keep an eye on the house, admit any visitors and see them off the premises when they have finished. I was told that the job would last until March when the collection is being moved…

  …Mrs Kovacs arrived at five o’clock. I had forgotten she was coming because the lighting had shorted out and I was trying to fix it. It was unusual for someone to visit the library so late. It was unusual for anyone to visit the library at all…

  Nicholas Garrick’s life at the Old Hall had followed a simple, undemanding routine. He was more or less camping out in a room at the back of the house, and spent his days carrying out basic repairs and trying to keep the dilapidated electrics and plumbing in some kind of working order. He was reliant on the landline for contact with the outside world. His mobile was unusable as he hadn’t been able to keep up with the payments.

  He admitted the few visitors who were given permission to visit the archive housed in the decaying library, and made sure they were safely off the premises. In his spare time, he read, went walking or made the occasional foray to the village to visit the pub or to stock up with food. He claimed that he was happy with the quiet and the isolation.

  His recent past held a tragedy. Garrick had been driving his parents to the airport and had been involved in a head-on collision with a car that had gone out of control and jumped the central barricade. Garrick had been virtually uninjured. His father had died at the scene, his mother had died a week later. A few weeks after the accident, Garrick had been admitted as a voluntary patient to the psychiatric ward of Manchester Royal Infirmary. When he was discharged, he had dropped out of his university course. The job at the Old Hall had come via the good offices of a family friend, a Miss Yevanova, whose son had overall responsibility for the Litkin Archive.

  His account of Helen Kovacs’ last evening was minimal. He’d admitted her, he’d set her up with a table and a desk light–the main lighting circuit having shorted out somewhere–and left her to it. He remembered that she’d asked some questions about the archive, about the location of some papers, but he hadn’t been able to help her. ‘It’s just a load of old boxes. I’m not interested in that stuff.’ He looked at the notes that Kovacs had left–120.43 PEKBM; P. E.; Ma_y _ro__ene__–and had shaken his head.

  But it was his account of the rest of the evening that made his interlocutors take notice, though they kept their response muted, and pushed him on with careful questions. According to Garrick, he had gone back to his room, fallen asleep and not woken until the next morning, when he realized that he hadn’t seen Helen Kovacs off the premises. He said he was concerned, because it meant he hadn’t done his job properly and she might complain. ‘And I’d left a desk lamp plugged in–I don’t trust the wiring,’ he said.

  He had been feeling very ill, but he got up and staggered to the library, where he had found Kovacs on the floor. He’d tried to help her, though he admitted that he knew she was dead. Her phone had been on the floor, by the work table which had fallen over. He had used it to call the police.

  When he was pushed about the evening, he admitted that he’d been drinking in his room, and that he’d taken some pills, prescription drugs that he took for anxiety. On further pressing, he admitted that he had received a phone call that had upset him. He told them, reluctantly, that the call had come from Miss Yevanova. It was after that he’d opened the bottle of whisky and taken the Valium.

  To the investigating team, it looked open and shut. They hadn’t got the confession that they’d hoped for, but Garrick had admitted without prompting that something had happened that evening that had upset him so much he had effectively tried to commit suicide. He denied that was his intent, but the doctors who had treated him said that he had tak
en a dangerously high dose.

  There were two anomalies. The first one was the weapon. The wire garrotte that had been embedded in Kovacs’ throat was not a weapon of impulse, nor something that would usually be to hand. However, the scenes of crime team had reported that there was still some equipment in the old kitchens. The garrotte could have come from there–it could have been a cheese wire. Garrick would have known the kitchens well. He had told them, with the pride of someone who had done a good job, that he knew the house from top to bottom.

  The second anomaly was the first emergency call. Someone had called the police from a location very close to the Old Hall, if not the Old Hall itself that morning. They hadn’t been able to trace the phone. It may have been coincidence, an accidental call made at the wrong time and the wrong place, but if so, the caller hadn’t come forward.

  Coincidences don’t sit well with juries.

  9

  Faith slept badly that night. In a state of semi-sleep, she went over and over the events of the day, drifting between dreams and wakefulness. She was glad when the radio came on at six and she knew the night was over.

  Wearily she climbed out of bed and went through her morning routine, putting off the moment when she’d have to decide what to do. She didn’t know if the Centre was going to be open today, or if it would still be part of the police investigation. No one had been able to tell her yesterday.

  She went down to the kitchen and made herself some coffee, then stood in the middle of the room, holding the cup to her mouth and gazing out of the window. The trees were bare and dead, and the high moors looked bleak and forbidding, but the sky was clear, unlike the day before, when…

  The cat from next door called from the window sill, interrupting her train of thought. She let it in, realizing that she had been staring at the sky for ages, watching a vapour trail moving across the empty blueness, the silver dart of the plane glinting as the sun caught it. Her coffee was tepid. She put it in the microwave and gave the cat some milk. It bumped its head against her legs for a while, then disappeared into the front room where the morning sun would be warming the cushions.